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DIES IRAE LYRICS
"Gargoyles" (1998)
1. Never More Occult
2. I Built The Symetry Of Chaos
3. The Vineyard
4. My Soul To Ashes
5. Dervent
6. Enrapture The Heathen
7. In A Frown I Found My Hate
8. The Funeral I've Never Seen
9. The Wish
10. Gargoilism
1. Never More Occult
"Constrâns sã mã vãd sã bat pustiul sumbru
Odatã ce pe drumul meu cutreier
Tot cãutându-mi calea spre luminã"
(Milton - The lost paradise)
I deplore this forgery my heart,
my tear-stained mind I'll depose
To strengthen your immaculate darkness,
to worship the light that mangles me
In this age of darkness
the souls lie between sickness and death
With my every move I bow to a wall of flesh
Creatures of light - search the shadows
The forever night - always together
Give me my sins - all I have
Creatures of light - God is dead
I now believe ...
To fill my muse with disillusions
a bitter spasm inside the candle,
Strings that pulled me fall around,
the puppet's master writhes in my mind...
2. I Built The Symetry Of Chaos
"Ci-albea pe cer o altã dimineaþã
ºi soarele urca cu-aceleaºi stele
ce+l însoþeau pe cel ce-mparte viaþã
îl zãmisli pre dânsul ºi pre ele"
(DANTE - Infernul; Divina Comedie)
I am end with no begining
The graceless beauty of
Inasanity's petals waiting
A demon of invited inspiration.
A black most beautiful weed
Silently cold grows inside
The eyes of small pure angels
Black from the womb till they die
Beside her gallops the crime, the plague and the hunger
Two little children used to walk behind them.
I built the symetry of chaos on
Surrealism of classic truth
Withered jewels of new ideas that
Worship my apparent calm lunacy ...
Two small dead angels cut away their eyes
It will always come to mow the eyes of small pure angels.
3. The Vineyard
"Fiþi aspri!"
(NIETZSCHE-Antichristul)
Sweat for your brows, drops in my glass
Thorns in your feet, taste for my wine
Nietszcheean slaves, all your sad stories
Are gathered on my bloody red tongue.
And it smells like rain in this old crowded life
where the ever changing seasons are blowing so rude
And nobody cares for this wine before me on the table
The generations worked their lives for its red
I'm tempted to say as the old philosopher spoke:
"You must be ruthless with all human kind!"
Sow my years - change your lies
Place all destinies - take their price
Drunk - with teardrops - dropping red
The spirits - so tangled - in life's perished webs
Nothing more fearful, nothing more strange
All our memories, all our range
Opened at night by trembling white hand
loosen again in the vineyard of sentiments...
We're filling the vineyard with our reflection
No more tales of glory, no more revelations!
4. My Soul To Ashes
"Am vãzut tot ce se face sub soare; ºi, iatã,
totul este deºertãciune ºi tulburare a duhului"
ECLEZIASTUL (1; 14)
Seeking your destiny by burning your life
Unveiling the dusk fears to open your eyes
Reading the years in shredded old stars
Waiting for something to come out of us
Simple thoughts - conquer time
Mystic flames - naked time
Cease emotions, find another impressions
Holding the destiny's unrestful distorsions
Burn to east my soul to dust
I burn the past, my soul to ashes...
Burn to east my soul to lust
I burn the dust, my soul to ashes...
Cold years of deception
Hungry years and more
Coming again, dry my thirst
Like the spring's violent burst.
Like thousands of seagulls
Drowing in the sea at dawn
An insatiable darkness
will devour us one as all.
5. Dervent
6. Enrapture The Heathen
"Ceea ce e denumit pãcat este un element
esential al progresului. Pãcatul, datoritã curiozitãþii
sale, amplificã experienþa rasei."
(OSCAR WILDE)
Black here means life, waiting for dust
The rack, time of tears, we burn, they trust
Black here means us, forces inside
Onward the sun, ride, ride, shadows in flames...
Stay, waiting, frozen for we are not the saints
We imagine moon before fields.
I waited enough to enrapture the heathen,
my free absolution to reign inside him.
I waited too much for my restricted poetry,
my immature solutions to dwell a lifeless sea.
Gilde - ghastly rivers, immune, hold me insane
Insects filling spaces, heathens - old disciples.
7. In A Frown I Found My Hate
"Omul va fi cu adevãrat liber decât în clipa în care-l
va fi ucis pe ultimul zeu..."
(MIRCEA ELIADE)
Not self complacence gives to life a sense
Why cut your lips before you shouted?
Even once go blind and you will see
A convenient god cant't take you to heaven
He shall cast salvation through rage
Reborn, he dies the hate again...
Divided we shall fall - and so we fade
Divided we shall rise - and so we hate
we'll drown our pain in poison, free the hate
Fake thousand lies with just one truth:
"That the play is the tragedy, MAN
And it's hero, the conqueror worm"
The worm relized inside this mourning's sheets
the chastity preserved in holly shell
Erected, bursted - feast of rape,
Behind the sacred walls of fate
Without any mean of contraception
His hate conceives no bounds
In frowns of wombs i found my hate
Each one of you will born a savior.
8. The Funeral I've Never Seen
"Cãci toate ce se vãd ºi par
sunt un vis într-un vis doar"
(E.A. POE-Un vis într-un vis)
I'll taste your dark time
Thine veins pour red wine
Shine your own sun above
Here lays the ultimate dove.
Breaking open marble stones
Weakly whitness comes within
Fluid sadness, black commitment
Desperate shapes, newborn sin
Love stains in Light
time is my tale
rest now in Death
Peace must be might.
Love stains in light - everyone will succeed to be crucified
Time is my tale - lost seconds just sand in the sea
Rest now in death - you are the memory of sacred
Peace must be might - beneath the fecundive earth.
Funeral - I've never seen
Funeral - questions are mean.
9. The Wish
"Visul este realizarea mascatã a dorinþei refulate"
(FREUD)
I call now for a long time
In my sad garden where I wish to die
My imagination is opened to you
and all my things are beloved, I'm sure...
You're here ... I can't believe
You have already turned me grey...
Listen closer to my severed past
Listen, listen to our fevered lust.
10. Gargoilism
"Fieacare duce în spinare o enormã Himerã;
cumplita fiarã îºi înfigea cele douã straºnice gheare
în pieptul celui cãlãrit ºi fabulosu-i cap
se sprijinea pe fruntea omului"
(CH. BAUDELAIRE - Fieacare cu himera lui)
There is no help in philosophy,
No help in changing out yesterday's truth,
Utopias we yearned to touch are dying now
And all the gods have humanly trespassed.
Gods built the world from most prosaic sins
and you are the lowest progeny of their copulation...
In our constant fall we cut our wrists
In shards of your painfully flooding essence
Dramas of your outside beauty are leaving us indifferent,
Soon you'll become gargoyles that treasure walls,
Conatamined - you will have your socle
Unfeeling - unable to be hurt
You know - the statue is in you
Expectant - a gargoyle grows in you.
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